


thrice

by just_one_iota



Series: we three kings [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Coitus Interruptus, Incest, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, References to past trauma, Things Going Wrong, Threesome - M/M/M, unpipe the tags you cowards, weird d/s elements that weren't intended but oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21664552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_one_iota/pseuds/just_one_iota
Summary: Together, they live on.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo/Maglor | Makalaurë, Fingon | Findekáno/Maglor | Makalaurë, Maedhros | Maitimo/Maglor | Makalaurë
Series: we three kings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602226
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	thrice

**Author's Note:**

> Kano= Makalaure= Maglor  
> Finno= Findekano= Fingon  
> Melnya is a rough Quenya translation of 'my love'.

_(once)_  
The first notes of a newly composed melody pluck at the back of Fingon's head as he pushes the door handle down with his elbow, a mouse-like squeak echoing out into the night-quiet streets. Carefully balancing the box full of wine bottles on his hip, Fingon nudges the door open and pushes his way inside. His leather boots dampen the sound on the wood to the whisper of a pad, less than the tiny clink the box makes as he moves it round his body to shut the door behind himself. He crosses in the room in near-darkness, the streetlight trickling in dimly from the doorway to the living room. One of his partners has forgotten to close the curtains again. The wide bay window lets in a dim and scattered light.

Fingon often spends time at that window, looking out until his eyes are sore (and trying to find, in Valinor's awe-filled and holy glow, the remains of constellations that were clear in dark Beleriand so many years ago).

He puts the box down on the counter, ignoring the slight ache in the muscles of his arms- surely, he once was stronger than this?

Stronger, but now happier, he thinks. The feeling spreads through him, dark and warm down to his fingers and toes. He is happy, but the stars are less, and still Fingon yearns.

He turns and moves almost silently towards the doorway. He follows the path of the light, and he can see the red flare of the unclosed curtain at the same time as he sees-

There, in the moon and streetlight, against the wall, Maedhros is kissing Maglor soundly. His autumn-red hair falls down around their faces (long now, oh, what a joy to play with it once more, though dearly loved musician's fingers could no longer run through it and leaving it standing upright like a field-) and down in luxurious waves, covering where their bodies meet. Though they are both fully clothed, they are pressed so tightly together that there cannot be room for a hand between them. Fingon can see how Maglor's arm wraps around Maedhros, pulling him impossibly closer and tangling his fingers into the curls scattered across Maedhros back. The other hand reaches up into the roots of that glorious hair.

The fingers look tight- almost painful- and something stirs in Fingon, dark and hungry. Maglor is forced to tilt his head up to Maedhros even as Maedhros tilts his own down, groaning and shoving his brother harder against the wall. He seems unable to decide where, exactly, he should touch Maglor, and so his hand roams with ever increasing desperation. One skates over the side of his chest, giving a sudden rough squeeze before dragging his nails over the tunic, down to Maglor's hip.

Oh, the sounds Maglor is making into Maedhros' mouth are addicting. Fingon can't help himself from shifting where he stands. He longs to go over there, and wrap himself around Maedhros from behind even as Maglor squirms, desperately trying to find the right place to shove his hips up against Maedhros' leg over and over again. Fingon could let his own hands explore them both, rut into Maedhros with the same rhythm, kiss that beautiful neck and bite, suck, leave marks...

Maedhros physically picks Maglor up, and Maglor breaks the kiss to gasp, desperately grabbing at Maedhros and slinging his arms around those broad shoulders even his brother lifts his hips and pulls him higher, not leaving off the kiss for a second- it merely moves to the corner of Maglor's mouth, to his jaw, hungry in the most primal way. Maglor's eyes are wide and staring at nothing as he tilts his head back against the wall, lips kiss-bruised and red. Maedhros licks a firm, possessive stripe up the smooth, pale throat in front of him, and Maglor closes his eyes and moans, hands scrambling against Maedhros' back, as they rock together desperately and wantonly.

Fingon is aching. He needs to adjust himself. And yet.

He knows they would welcome him if he joined them now. He wants to suck Maglor off, he wants to be fucked by Maedhros, and then for Maglor to recover and take his own turn even as Fingon weeps with overstimulation (and Maedhros, pressing gentle kisses on his cheek along the lines of his tears, saying, _it's okay, we've got you._ ) He has to shift again at the thought. A whimper is brutally supressed.

And yet, he is reluctant to disturb this. It is a moment between just the two of them. Fingon will have his own moments, and they will all have their moments together, and each is precious.

Maedhros flicks his head to toss sweaty locks out of his face and leans forward again to kiss Maglor properly, with something deeper than desire and closer to need. Maglor closes his eyes and kisses back with the same biting, furious want. It is not the kind of want that comes purely from the body. They push against each other, as tight and desperate as can be in the dim light. Their hips rock.

Fingon escapes to his bedroom with some difficulty, unable to stop the racing cycle of his breathing or the pounding of his heart. He does not even take his boots off as he sits on the bed, jerking his trousers down and reaching in to stroke himself as quickly and quietly as possible. The images flash before his eyes, two bodies almost too beautiful to bear.

(He can hear the moans through the wall. It does not take long.)

_(twice)_  


Maglor bites down on the nipple in front of him with perhaps a little more force than necessary, but when Maedhros gasps and hits Maglor's backside with his stump, he can't bring himself to regret it. The thrum of the impact echoes through him, harmonising with the hum of anticipation.

They lie face to face, on their sides. Behind beautiful Maedhros, naked and perfect, Fingon laughs and reaches for Maglor.

His fingers are wet from where Maedhros had sucked them eagerly, greedily, and they leave a cool trail down Maglor's side. He shivers.

"Ticklish?" Fingon asks with a grin. His eyes are shining.

Maedhros shifts on the bedsheets, his hand taking a handful of Maglor's arse (oh, that’s nice, the way fire skitters along his veins from the warmth of the touch, a desire to be claimed, a desire to be _good_ ) and uses the other arm to move the dark head away from the nipple he is licking enthusiastically. His hand lets go of Maglor's behind to help guide his head unrelentingly downwards. Maglor fights, pushing his head back just a little, to feel the pressure and see Fingon's sly smile.

"He's not ticklish," Maedhros says dryly, and then makes a half-swallowed sound as Fingon continues to thrust between Maedhros' clenched, beautiful thighs. The damp head of his dick appears, then disappears again, and Maglor is hypnotised by the beat. "He's just a brat."

"Rich coming from you," Maglor purrs, but he can’t disguise the hunger in his voice. The ends of his hair brush over Maedhros' cock, making it twitch. He pulls back, away from the hand that holds him, trying not to laugh at the groan that follows. 

"Cruel," Maedhros growls. His eyes are dancing with the fire that might once have made Maglor scared, very long ago. "And you were ever more of a brat. You never ate your porridge, you always chewed Mother's shoes-"

"As a baby," Maglor points out huffily, his eyes narrowing, and he reaches out to savagely pinch the damp nipple and twist it hard. Maedhros gasps in his lovely voice, his shining eyes going wide, and arches his strong chest. 

"You are both awful brats," Fingon rumbles. He pulls back, then grabs Maedhros' shoulder and pulls him down to lie on his back before immediately covering him again. He shoves himself firmly back between the tempting thighs. Maedhros makes a bitten back sound and lifts his arms to Fingon, who turns his head to press his lips to the inside of an unmarred right wrist. The kiss is butterfly light. "I shall have to lord over you both, and find a way to keep you in line."

" _Yes, please,_ " Maedhros says, smiling upwards like he's looking at the sun. His hair sprawls like a halo. Fingon's darker legs are over his own, pinning them, as their owner tosses his head back with a soft clatter of beads. He reaches out for Maglor with eyes golden and molten.

"Come here," he commands, and Maglor, desire and heat thick in his throat, does without a second thought.

He wants to stroke Fingon's beautiful skin, explore the muscles rippling over his abdomen, trace the line down to where Maedhros lies neglected. Instead, Fingon pulls his head in firmly with both hands and kisses him.

Their mouths slide over each other, both slick and wet, illogically hot. Fingon's lips are slightly chapped. It must be from too much time outside, racing the horses and climbing mountains (much less dangerous than those he had once explored). Between the warm smooth drags, the occasional dry and cracked section catches and rubs along Maglor's lips delightfully. Then Fingon's tongue is there, smooth and bold, scattering every thought. Maglor opens his mouth and gives in, pushing into the kiss harder. He feels as though he is catching alight, dissolving into sparks.

But he does not dissolve, and the sparks do not disappear. They travel down his spine and gather where his cock grew ever harder, hotter in its need.

He sees Fingon's small, dark hand slip down before he feels it. It’s warm and gentle, just fingertips, gliding tantalisingly over the base of his cock and upwards. He groans and feels Maedhros sigh beneath them where Fingon still fucks his thighs, now slick with precome and sweat.

Maglor pulls back from the kiss, drawn by curiosity. He looks down at his brother's face, the sharp grey eyes dark and fixated, cheeks flushed and expression not trying to hide heated desire. Fingon's free hand rests on his hip.

Fingon watches Maglor, beginning to lose his breath now, even as his fingertips continue to glide teasingly over Maglor's cock. They skim over the head and Maglor has to pause for a second, tilting his head forward against his chest and groaning. He wants to writhe, wants to lick the droplet of precome off of those treacherously good fingers.

He remembers himself soon enough when he looks back at the sight in front of and beneath him. Maedhros' breathing grows ever more irregular. His hand skims over Fingon's chest and abdomen, but he does not try to touch himself. It's excellent self-control. Such things should be rewarded.

Maglor leans forward and licks a long stripe along the sweaty length of the nearest thigh, tasting the salt and musk and texture of the brother he loves so much. The movement of Fingon’s fingers on him becomes more irregular as Maglor’s tongue flicks forward, into the dip where the thighs meet, and licks the base of Fingon’s cock. He does it again, savouring it.

Maglor pulls back and licks his lips. Then he curls his hand around the furthest thigh, and in one abrupt movement pulls them together tighter.

Fingon cries out, just a little sound as his eyelids flutter, and his hand finally properly closes around Maglor, warm and secure.

It’s a heady feeling, having something to thrust into. Maglor wants to shove himself in and out of his lover's beautiful fist until he comes all over a desperate Maedhros.

Maedhros, Maitimo, looking up at him with his eyes burning and mouth slightly parted. He has always been so beautiful, ever since the very beginning. Fingon's thumb sweeps upwards and over his frenulum, sending a burst of colour behind his eyes, and Maglor screws his eyes shut and thinks how much more beautiful Maedhros looks with a stream of white come across his chest and open lips, still gasping and sweating and needy, muscles clenching as he tries to control himself, face somewhere between ecstasy and pain. And Fingon would continue to thrust (so, so beautiful) until he left his own come all over those perfect thighs-

Fingon's hand is tight, squeezing properly, and his eyes are still on Maglor, who feels on fire down to his bones.

"Get on with it," Maedhros hisses from the bed, squirming lewdly. His eyes are begging in a way his mouth refuses to. Instead, he tries to command. "Touch me."

"What if I don't want to?" Fingon teases breathlessly. Maedhros deliberately flickers his eyes between Fingon's face and where his dick disappears between Maedhros' sweaty, gleaming thighs. Of course Fingon wants to. Who wouldn't want this marvellous specimen?

Maglor laughs. "What a cheeky boy," he teases in a voice that breaks a little as Fingon flicks his wrist, and he twists away from Fingon's blessed hand before he can embarrass himself. Trying to slow his pounding heart, he lies down next to his brother where he can whisper into a twitching ear. "What should we do about that cheek, your majesty? What does our king command?"

Fingon pulls a face and pauses his rolling hips, despite the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he pants, "I've changed… my mind. Don't call me that in bed."

Maglor sighs and rolls on his back to look up where Fingon towers above him gloriously. "You never stop changing your mind! And that would take half the fun out of it."

"Half?" Maedhros splutters beside him, laughing, and Fingon is laughing too, if a little deeper than his normal timbre. "If that is how little enjoyment you gain from this, maybe we shouldn't touch you at all."

"Indeed," Fingon huffs with a haughty (regal) grin even as Maglor makes an outraged sound. "After all, I... have such a lovely servant... here right in front of me." He turns his handsome head to Maedhros, and the light now shines upon their king in profile as he runs his hands up along Maedhros' sides, eliciting a shudder, and further up to cup his face. 

Then Fingon leans down and kisses him, grinding faster than before, with rapid jolts of his hips.

Such a view; only the very greedy could complain when given a gift like this. But still Maglor draws himself up, scowling, and presses himself against Fingon's side to smooth warm hands over the muscular back.

Fingon ignores him and leans down to Maedhros' ear as his hips start to stutter, losing their rhythm. All teasing and artifice are gone from his musical voice as he whispers, "you're beautiful, my love you're so beautiful, oh, I-"

There is something else, but Maglor loses track of the words as he notices his brother's hands and legs freeze.

Fingon murmurs on, but there is only a rushing sound in Maglor's ears.

"Finno," he mutters. He places a hand on Maedhros' calf and moves to see his brother's expression as Fingon pulls back, blinking.

Maedhros' face is changed and blanked, as though someone has wiped all emotion off of it. It’s still. The rest of his body is too. He stares upwards, his gaze far away and filled with a chillingly numb resignation.

Maglor's blood turns cold and all thought of arousal vanish. Fingon near leaps back, the first stirrings of guilt and blame cascading across his face, swiftly followed by horror. 

"Maedhros," Maglor calls softly, his heart beating fast. It's been a long time since they had to deal with this. The suddenness of it leaves his emotions reeling. "Nelyo. Come back to us. Can you hear me?"

Maedhros's limbs lie still and limp against the duvet, like skeletal smears. His chest rises and falls quietly.

Maglor's indomitable brother stares upward, at something only he can see, and every part of his body says that he is far away from here.

Fingon's eyes are wet but he does not let any tears fall. He carefully edges around so that he is beside his lover, a quiet sea of sheets between them- just about a handspan across.

"Nelyo," Maglor murmurs from the other side, and then he begins to sing, so low that it almost vibrates, a song of comfort and home.

Fingon takes the quilt from the base of the bed and lies it over the delicate, vulnerable display of Maedhros' body, leaving his arms and face uncovered. He tucks in the edges with care. 

"It's alright," he murmurs, and other such inanities. The terrible steady rhythm of Maedhros’ breathing stutters. "It'll be alright, we're here, you're okay," Fingon whispers, until finally Maedhros thaws. His limbs relax and his eyes clear, still avoiding their gaze. He takes a desperate breath, reaches up for one of Fingon's braids, and rolls over to bury his face in Fingon's lap. Maedhros clutches the braid tightly, until Maglor can see the ribbon pulling, but Fingon does not make a sound. His face has turned gentle and kind, and everything that Maglor loves and feels he does not deserve. Fingon softly strokes Maedhros' flowing mess of hair, and when Maedhros does not flinch or tense, does it again.

Maglor lets his song find an ending. 

"It's alright, brother," he murmurs. He carefully scoots over to sit next to the entangled pair. He looks down at the sea of messy copper locks in Fingon's lap and feels the sorrow of the years sting a little more.

Slowly, he tips his head and lies it on his cousin's dark and reliable shoulder.

Fingon's voice hums through his body and against Maglor's ear, soothing and constant. After a few moments, Maglor begins speaking words of love and comfort too. 

Maedhros starts to shake. Maglor reaches out and let his fingers brush the back of his brother's, non-threatening. The hand turns over and grips Maglor's with surprising strength.

Fingon's words change. He starts to tell a story, one Maglor vaguely remembers from their childhood, and does not stop talking until the sunrise.

\--------

It is another day, several later. Maedhros is making pancakes for breakfast in the kitchen, only in his pyjama trousers and apron- the swathe of his back is incredibly tempting and charmingly domestic. Fingon is chatting and swinging his legs from his perch on the kitchen cupboards (why? Maglor thinks despairingly, but he is long since resigned.)

Maglor is contemplating swooping in to save his banjo, which lies perilously close to both the kitchen batter and Fingon's kicking legs. Then Maedhros takes a deep breath and lays the spatula down for a moment. The stove hisses. The smell of pancakes fills the air.

"Don't call me beautiful," he says.

It is quiet. Maglor looks up at Fingon. Even perched on a cupboard with his hair unbrushed and mussed, the thoughtful look on Fingon's face still seems wise beyond years.

Maglor wants to ask, but he will not.

"Okay," Fingon says carefully. "Is that... ever?"

Maedhros shakes his head. The butter in the pan hisses, and he flips a pancake. The pulse at his throat is racing, and Maglor would love him even if they could never touch again. "Just... when we're intimate. Or even just... you were on top of me, I..."

His hand tightens on the spatula. His face tightens too.

"Am still the prettiest princess in all the land," Maglor says. It's an old joke, and it makes both Fingon and Maedhros smile their lovely smiles. "Where would we be without our damsel in distress?"

"Without breakfast," Fingon replies, and he hops down to stand on tiptoes behind Maedhros and look at the pancakes. He reaches out to pinch one, and with the speed of warrior training Maedhros whacks his hand away. Their shadows mingle, but the morning is fair and the outlines of their silhouettes are blurred on the floor.

_(thrice)_

"Are you sure?' Makalaurë asks from beneath him. Maedhros' thighs rest across his chest and shoulders, straddling the body of his lovely, lovely brother. He can feel the brush on the inside of his thighs every time Makalaurë's chest moves with a breath, every slight tensing of a muscle. And they haven't even begun yet.

"I know how to make it stop if I need to," Maedhros murmurs, fascinated by his brother's muscular shoulders and beautiful face. Those pink round lips taunt him. "Do you?" Maedhros murmurs, tucking some hair behind Makalaurë's ear, led by an urge he can't control. He is aware that his voice has gone deep and intimate, and Makalaurë, ever the connoisseur of sounds, shivers at it.

"Yes," his Kano answers, smiling up at him. Maedhros traces his fingers along the cheekbones and soft satin skin, before shifting his hips forward a little. He's already hard. He can't help it.

"This wasn't in the plan," Makalaurë says with a glint in his eye, testing the ribbons that tie him to the bedpost and straining his arms. It shows off his muscles magnificently. Nevertheless, he bends his head forward as much as he can and sticks out his tongue to lap at the tip.

Maedhros bites back any sound, staring in fascination at his brother's lips, tongue, his eyes staring cheekily back. The tongue returns, the tip reaching just below the head and licking upwards in a glorious feeling of heat, leaving a trail of coolness behind it as the air hits wet skin. His cock twitches against the tongue where it now laps at the head, and Makalaurë makes a sound that might be a laugh. It's hard to tell, with his mouth like this. Maedhros loves that. He watches that clever tongue lick a bead of liquid from the head of his cock, and burns inside.

Reluctantly, he draws back, and Makalaurë's mouth chases him a little, seemingly without thinking. 

Maedhros smiles, sitting back. "Eager, are you?"

Makalaurë opens his mouth to give an answer that is undoubtedly clever and cutting, but his face changes when he sees what's in Maedhros' hands.

"What's that for?" he asks, but his eyes flicker up to Maedhros' face and it is so clearly not a question.

"To save that clever mouth for what it's really good for," Maedhros croons, lifting the ball gag up to Kano's face. It's red and gold with a star of Fëanor on it, which would absolutely horrify their father if he knew. His fingers skim over one side of Makalaurë's brow, down over a cheekbone and sharp jawline. He can already see how the straps would look.

Makalaurë says something in Quenya that is extremely rude and undoubtedly only meant as a goad to get Maedhros to shove the gag in his brother's mouth. So that's exactly what he does.

Little brothers can be such disobedient creatures. Kano's eyes glitter as Maedhros touches his face, looking at his expression, checking. He's answered with a short, sharp nod.  
Good.

Maedhros does up the straps behind Makalaurë's head with dexterous fingers made nimble by centuries of practice. Makalaurë makes a muffled sound around the gag. It looks so very good in him. Almost as good as Maedhros' cock, or Findekàno's.

"Good boy," Maedhros hums. He lets his voice go cool and unaffected, knowing how that will rile up Makalaurë. With hand and stump he traces up the stretched out biceps, over the sensitive inside of the elbows, over the tendons and veins of the forearms where he knows that blood is thrumming hot; higher still, over delicate wrists to the skilful fingers.

"You know how to stop me," Maedhros says. "Show me."

Kano rolls his eyes. Maedhros fights back the urge to slap, bite and/or wrestle him. Instead, he watches as Kano snaps his fingers twice.

"Beautiful," Maedhros says, his eyes going hot and his grin going sharp. Makalaurë stares up at him hungrily.

But Maedhros swings his leg over and stands up, walking away. The noise that comes from behind the gag is... unique.

He laughs slightly in response, reaching the armchair in the corner and sprawling in it, long legs dangling over one side. He looks back towards the bed, where obscenely stretched ropes show off the sensuous lines of Makalaurë's body- as lithe and beautiful as any dancer, as if made of music himself- eyes that still, after all this time, outdo the beauty of the Trees in Maedhros' mind. His muscles stand out, like a landscape Maedhros could map forever; with his hand and teeth and tongue.

That he shares this unequalled treasure with his beloved Findekàno only makes it sweeter, the taste sharper somehow. And it is Findekàno who they're waiting for tonight. Maedhros will be good, but that does not mean he can't have fun in the meantime.

Makalaurë is trying to shift against the sheets, find any movement he can in his binds. Maedhros watches him with some amusement until he gives up, beaten. The only movement left to him is his head, which he turns towards Maedhros.

That gaze still spears him. His cock is still aching from the teasing licks before. Maedhros sighs and arches his back, stretching. It shows off his sinuous curves beautifully. He twists, making himself comfortable, before letting his hand drift slowly down his chest and stomach, around his thigh and up the inside of it, enjoying the heat it lights in his skin. He traces idle circles on his thigh, lost in thought and unintentionally circling where the scar of an orc bite has faded over the centuries to something almost soft. He looks down thoughtfully. Then Maedhros pinches himself. Hard.

A lovely red bruise begins to form when he let go. He does it again, leaving a trail up his thigh, right up to where it meets his groin.

A grumble comes from the bed where Makalaurë watches avidly, but there are certainly some benefits to the gag. The lack of snarky commentary is one of them. The intensity of Makalaurë's wordless gaze is another.

Maedhros sighs, tips his head back, and finally begins to stroke himself.

He keeps it slow, a gentle build, sweeping long strokes. Even still, his toes curl reflexively at the pleasure that spreads through him. Another stroke, and he can feel his cock responding, growing heavier and more demanding.

"Sometimes," Maedhros rumbles into the quiet, accompanied only by the slap of his hand on flesh, "I wish we could keep you like this all the time. Perhaps we could. Tie you to the bed and leave you there, always ready for one of us to fuck. You'd wait there all day, alone and impatient, and whenever Fingon or I had a free moment, we'd come back here and find you waiting. I could have you however I wished, whenever I wished..."

He feels his brother's thought like his own. _You already can._

Maedhros smirks and keeps stroking, spreading his legs so that Makalaurë can have a better view.

"I love your mouth. I love it when you're in control, licking and sucking how you like, hungry as always, and I love it when I hold you down and fuck your throat. It feels so good when you whimper, when you cough or writhe for air or moan- oh, I think you like it even more than I do, don't you, brother? I love your ass, whether it's tight and hot or loose and already full of Fingon's come- what do you like more, I wonder: when I fuck you through his come, let us both drip out of you every time you move for the rest of the day- or when I lick it out first?"

Maedhros' own ass is beginning to feel empty and needy, and he hopes Makalaurë is suffering. Certainly, his fingers are moving fruitlessly in their bonds, straining to reach something, to let themselves free. Makalaurë tugs again, towards Maedhros, but the ribbons hold and all he can do is drink the sight in hungrily. His eyes are so bright that they could be mistaken for pure silver, shining in the dimness. Maedhros has no doubt that his brother is plotting some terrible revenge.

"It's almost a shame we have to wait for our fair one," Maedhros sighs, letting go of himself. "There's so much I'd do to you. Perhaps this."

To demonstrate, Maedhros sucks his finger into his mouth and wets it carefully, thoroughly, putting on a show. Then he lowers his hand and pushes his way inside himself.

The first knuckle burns. He stops there to savour the sensation, closing his eyes. A shift of his hips brings a gasp from the new angle, but also optimises Makalaurë's view as Maedhros uses his stump to hold his balls out of the way for an unobstructed picture.

He sinks his finger in further, surprised as always by the sheer heat inside himself. Deeper still, and he can feel every ridge of his walls with the pad of his finger, while his sphincter is stretched around the base. Even with his eyes closed now, he can feel Makalaurë's eyes on him.

A shift in angle would hit the spot he wants, but he doesn't try. Instead, he draws his hand back, spits on it, and guides another finger in.

This is more of a stretch, and it's glorious, even with his wrist bent like this. Maedhros starts slowly fucking himself, shifting his hips slightly, barely caring about Makalaurë now. The heat builds at the base of his cock. His fingers curl slightly, gaining just the right traction and friction along the softness of his walls, and he hears himself let out a whimper. 

Maedhros wriggles, rearranging his legs so that he can plant one on the floor and one on the arm of the chair and use the leverage to move his entire body, fucking himself down on his fingers as though they were Kano's cock or Finno's mouth. The stretch and ache inside him are glorious. He licks his lips and moves his fingers just slightly to the side-

Oh, fuck, that's it, and the burst of pleasure that surfs out along his limbs is glorious. Maedhros goes harder, more, and now his cock bounces against his legs and stomach with each movement. He lets go of his balls and lifts his stump to rub himself.

"Am I interrupting?" says a smooth, beautiful voice from the doorway, and Maedhros looks up to see Findekàno's stunning visage looking down at him.

Despite the amusement in his tone, Fingon's eyes are dark and so dilated that his iris is reduced to a small ring. He's tense despite himself, looking at Maedhros like he might devour him. And he's bulging under his breeches.

"Lovely cousin," Maedhros purrs, not bothering to take his fingers out of his ass. He flutters his eyelashes. "I wrapped up a gift for you."

Findekàno's eyes move to Makalaurë, spread-eagled and dripping saliva around his gag, brutally helpless and utterly enchanting. His expression remains hungry. "So I see."

Slowly, Maedhros removes his fingers with a slick squelching sound. He rolls to his feet with a fluid grace, and walks across the room to claim a kiss. Findekàno yields gladly, opening his mouth and letting his tongue roam. One of his hands rests on Maedhros' head, and the fingernails lightly scratch. Maedhros can feel his cock bumping against Findekàno's clothes, leaving precome on the breeches, but he doesn't care.

Findekàno's fingers turn tight and pull Maedhros away. "I believe you'll have to wait your turn," he says, and turns to Makalaurë.

"Let me unclothe you," Maedhros murmurs, draping himself along Findekàno's back and keeping his mouth by one tempting ear. He can't resist a quick nibble.

"Quickly," Findekàno replies imperiously, and holds out his arms. The smile in his eyes gives him away.

The tunic laces down the back. Maedhros wants to kiss every bare inch of skin he exposes, but he controls himself and lets his nimble fingers set Findekàno free. The breeches are easier, although he lets his fingers skim over the front first just to feel Fingon shiver. No shoes: Fingon must have left them by the door. Good. Finally, Maedhros reaches up and pulls a clasp out of Findekàno's hair. Braids tumble down with a glittering laziness and grace.

Findekàno steps away, ignoring Maedhros now. Maedhros decides to retreat around to the other side of the bed, where he can lie down parallel to his brother.

It leaves his head resting by Makalaurë's hand. He begins sucking on the fingers, as Findekàno straddles Makalaurë.

Makalaurë arches up and Findekàno lets him, grinding down gently to make their cocks rub together. Makalaurë makes a sound, and then one that sounds considerably less pleasurable- a choking, coughing noise.

Findekàno raises an eyebrow. When Makalaurë snaps his fingers once, Maedhros panics and rips the gag off immediately.

"I'm okay," Makalaurë says instantly, and then coughs some more before laughing slightly breathlessly, his eyes still bright. "I'm alright, I choked on my own spit, keep going, please-"

"Are you sure you're alright?" Maedhros asks worriedly, stroking back Kano's hair. This is Maedhros's fault; it's what he gets for trying something new on a tied up subject. Findekàno touches Makalaurë's cheek gently, frowning.

"Yes," Makalaurë enunciates empathetically.

"We'll just keep the gag out, then," Findekàno decides, reaching for it. His fingers very carefully avoid touching the Star of Fëanor.

"No," Makalaurë demands. "Put it back in."

"Are you sure?" Findekàno asks, pausing and checking Makalaurë's face.

"Definitely." His expression hungry like the little harlot he is.

"It did look so good on you," Findekàno mutters, rubbing one thumb up along the line of saliva that sneaked out from Makalaurë's mouth, following the trail back to Makalaurë's beautiful swollen lips. Maedhros' mouth dries a little bit, and his cock twitches again. His two lovers lock eyes for a moment, and then Makalaurë bites Findekàno's thumb.

Findekàno draws his hand back and slaps Makalaurë's face. The sound alone makes Maedhros harder, and Makalaurë gasps, his eyes lighting up again. Yes, a harlot indeed.

Findekàno shoves the gag back in Makalaurë's mouth a little brutally. "The next time you bite me, bitch, you'll get a lot worse than that," he hisses. Makalaurë's eyes twinkle. He's unbearable sometimes. Maedhros can't hear the thought that Makalaurë sends to Findekàno, but he can feel it brush at the edge of his mind, where his bond with them thrums. And he sees the effect.

Findekàno slaps Makalaurë again, this time on the other cheek, and Maedhros squirms. What he'd give to be on the receiving end of those slaps. Perhaps another time.

"You play a dangerous game for someone at my mercy," Findekàno warns, and he lowers himself to lie almost completely on top of Makalaurë. He leans up to one straining bicep and begins to bite and suck, leaving marks along the silky skin. On the other side, Maedhros bends his head and does the same. He loves the taste of Makalaurë's skin.

Makalaurë moans incredibly loudly. Findekàno is kissing his way down the length of one arm, but his hand comes up to rest with the fingertips just above Makalaurë's sternum. Then he curls his fingers, making the nails dig in, and rakes it down Makalaurë's torso slowly.

Makalaurë cries out around the gag and bucks up. In the wake of Findekàno's fingers, long red trails appear, marking him clearly. Findekàno bites into the delicate flesh of his inner elbow hard, while Maedhros shifts to rut against the side of his little brother's thigh. He does not know what he loves more; Findekàno's commanding aura or Kano's helplessness. The combination is heady like incense, winding around his every thought and tearing them down.

After a time Makalaurë begins to sob, real tears coming out of his eyes, as Findekàno repeatedly rakes his nails down the bare and stretched out torso. But even for his tears, his cock gets harder and harder. The red trails down his front grow in number, looking almost angry. Findekàno, in contrast, looks exhilarated. A rough copy of his handprint is forming on Makalaurë's face.

Findekàno scratches over a nipple, eyes fixed on Makalaurë's face as it crumples. He seems to have lost control of his body, which twists and struggles impossibly against his bonds, each breath making his chest rise and fall rapidly. Maedhros hums happily and leans down to lick over a rib, across multiple angry lines, feeling the texture under his tongue.

Findekàno raises himself up, lifting a hand and slowly, with the barest hint of pressure, trailing a fingernail up Makalaurë's cock.

Makalaurë screws his eyes shut, sobbing uncontrollably. The sounds coming from his mouth are all garbled now. Finno bends forward to place his mouth over the spot where Makalaurë's shoulder attaches, and bites down hard before laving it with licks.

"You don't get to come," Findekàno murmurs. "Not until we say so."

"My lovely brother," Maedhros croons, delighted beyond words. He reaches up and strokes his little Kano's devastated face. "So good for us, so pleasing, what a good boy."

Makalaurë continues to cry as he turns his head into his brother's hand, seeking the reassurance. Maedhros leans down. He cannot kiss him properly like this, but he bites kisses on Makalaurë's lips around the gag, licks salty tears off of a cheek, presses his lips butterfly-light to the patch of undamaged skin right next to Makalaurë's eye. Makalaurë blinks in gratitude.

Behind Maedhros, Findekàno sighs. "You two are stunning together."

Both of them look up at Findekàno with a smile in their eyes. Maedhros leans forward and brushes a kiss across his beloved cousin's lips, which saved him in ways beyond count, and which he will always be grateful for.

"You've been so patient, my love," Findekàno tells him, brushing the hair out of his eyes with a soft hand. "Come sit on my lap."

Maedhros will never refuse that offer. Findekàno sits back on Maglor's thighs, and Maedhros climbs over his brother to lie his lanky limbs over Findekàno's dark legs.

"My lovely one," Findekàno murmurs, wrapping one arm around Maedhros and pulling him more firmly onto his lap, "you're going to be taken tonight."

His long fingers skim down the endless expanse of pale back, making Maedhros shiver, before playing over his hole.

"Perfect," Maedhros groans, touching their foreheads together.

"Pass me the oil," Findekàno commands. Maedhros shakes his head.

"I'm prepared enough, I'm ready, you can fuck me."

"No," his cousin (king) insists in a tone that brokers no argument. Maedhros scowls at him before rolling his eyes and reaching for the oil. Findekàno slicks his fingers methodically, closes the bottle, and slips his hand over Maedhros' buttocks to push one finger in.

Maedhros groans and tilts his head back. As lovely as this was when he did it to himself, it could never compare to Findekàno's hands, Findekàno's touch. That single finger is so good, somehow pressing into all the right spots in all the right ways, and it only gets better when Findekàno adds a second finger and crooks them. Lights flash behind his eyes. He shoves his hips back and begs for more until he forgets his own words.

Findekàno laughs, as amazed as he was the very first time. "You're such a slut for me," he says delightedly, adding more fingers, trying different angles, watching Maedhros' face like it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. "I almost want to make you come like this. In fact-" his eyes turn wicked- "I think I will."

He shoves harder, harsher, just how Maedhros loves it. Maedhros hisses and fucks himself on Findekàno's lap desperately, wanting more, wanting a whole hand, wanting Findekàno's whole wrist in him. The number of fingers keeps changing, and it's both maddening and incredibly arousing. Findekàno laughs at his desperation, but he keeps playing his fingers along Maedhros' insides. He leans forward and takes the tip of Maedhros' right ear into his mouth. It's scaldingly hot, an incredible sensation as his tongue plays around the curves. Then he lets the ear pop free and whispers; _"I love you."_

He crooks his fingers. Maedhros comes like a burst of light.

When he comes down, blinking and panting, Findekàno's fingers still feel delightful in his ass. His cock is oversensitive, soft and lying against his thigh. His come is all over Findekàno.

Those golden eyes are laughing at him, filled with desire and triumph. Maedhros kisses him. It's surprisingly sweet. Beneath them, Makalaurë's muscles keep shifting.

"Good," Findekàno murmurs. Their foreheads are pressed together again. "That's one. Now get our pretty little toy to clean you up with his mouth. I've got to get him nice and slick to fuck you like you need."

Maedhros blinks, his head still spinning, but clambers off Findekàno. He turns and sees Makalaurë's tear streaked face. He's not crying anymore, but there are still tracks along his face and his eyes are huge.

Maedhros crawls up, fighting off the laxity in his limbs, and reaches to take Makalaurë's gag off.

"Are you going to be a good boy for me?" he murmurs. Makalaurë nods desperately. Maedhros pulls the gag completely out of his mouth. Makalaurë still looks wrecked.

"Are you okay?" Maedhros murmurs, their foreheads almost touching.

Makalaurë looks as though he might be too overwhelmed to answer, but he nods and stretches his neck up to give Maedhros a fumbling kiss. His lips feel hot and clumsy. It's perfect.  
Makalaurë makes a soft little sound, and Maedhros looks back to see Findekàno licking at the inside of his brother's pale thighs. That's Maedhros cue to shift his hips so that he's straddling Makalaurë's face, and lower his cock to that mouth.

The first tentative brush of Maglor's lips is almost too much. Maedhros shivers, fighting the desire to move away. But then Makalaurë licks up his cock, gathering come on his tongue, and it's delightful. The gentle licks and overheated lips quickly get Maedhros back into the mood, and then, staring straight up at him with wide grey eyes, Makalaurë takes Maedhros' still soft cock into his mouth.

It's still gentle as Makalaurë licks around the tip and pushes his tongue into the slit. It's oversensitive, but Maedhros has always loved pushing his own boundaries, and he cannot deny the blood flowing back into his cock or the softness of his brother's tongue. He pushes further into Makalaurë's mouth, then gently into his throat. Kano gags but quickly controls it, still looking up at him with those beautiful watery eyes. Eru, they're so innocent, even while his lips tighten around his brother's cock and his tongue laves over the vein.

Then something makes Kano startle, instinctively trying to suck in a breath. His cheeks hollow deliciously around Maedhros, his lips ripple and his throat contracts. Maedhros can't help but gasp and shove deeper. He pulls back before Kano chokes.

He looks over his shoulder and sees Findekàno bent over, Makalaurë's cock in his mouth right down to the base. His lips are stretched wide.

Maedhros drinks in the sight hungrily as Findekàno bobs up and down sinfully with muffled wet noises. Makalaurë tries to keep paying attention to the cock in his own mouth, but he keeps getting distracted. Maedhros looks down and pulls back until just the tip is in Makalaurë's mouth. His tongue roams over it wildly, and Maedhros is fully hard again now.

Findekàno pulls off Makalaurë's cock and gives a slightly hoarse laugh. "We're not done yet, cousin," he says. He reaches out for Maedhros' hips.

Maedhros follows him willingly, although he misses the joys of Makalaurë's mouth. He finds himself instead over Makalaurë's hard, gleaming dick. He can feel Fingon right up behind him, just as hard.

"Fuck him," Findekàno hisses in his ear. One hand is tight in his hair. The other is possessive on his hip. Together they guide Maedhros as he steadies Makalaurë's cock with his hand, takes a deep breath and slowly pushes himself down onto it.

Makalaurë's cry sounds like a broken-off note as Maedhros' entrance passes over the head. It clenches tight around the shaft, but Maedhros keeps pushing himself further down with Findekàno's guidance and love. His face screws up in ecstasy. Makalaurë looks up, helpless and adoring, but mostly lustful. His face is turned from overwhelmed to ravenous, and it makes Maedhros burn inside even more than the thick head of his cock does.

It takes a little more effort to sink right to the base, but it's worth it for the glorious look on Makalaurë's face. His hips manage to jolt just slightly, hitting so deep inside that Maedhros cannot process it, cannot process anything. Makalaurë's cock is everything, but so is Finno's voice behind him, his erection pushing against Maedhros' back.

"Move, please, melnya," Makalaurë gasps out desperately, and Maedhros feels his own emotions tight in his chest. He rises and falls- more than he meant to, but the sensation is just _so good_. Makalaurë grunts, surprisingly unmusically. Maedhros can't resist doing that again, half for himself and half for how his beautiful Makalaurë reacts. The way Makalaurë's cock drags his walls is just right. It burns without hurting in the wrong way, and when he clenches his muscles Makalaurë makes another undignified noise, trying to match Maedhros' rhythm. There's very little he can do.

"Ride him," Findekàno orders, and Maedhros does; hard and unforgiving. He plants his hand on his brother's chest for better leverage, slamming himself up and down, wanting the friction and pleasure, loving the way Makalaurë's eyes change. The slapping sound echoes in the room. Makalaurë's cock hits the right spot and Maedhros cries out, tossing his head back. Findekàno presses himself up behind him tighter. Maedhros hears the oil bottle open and close again. Then there's a finger joining the cock at his entrance.

Maedhros inhales sharply. He stops moving and swallows.

"Do it," he says. Findekàno sucks a painful love bite onto his neck at the same time as he pushes a finger in.

It's an odd sensation. It must be doubly so for Makalaurë, whose throat bobs as the finger presses deeper, squeezed against his cock. It moves in and out, slowly loosening the muscle just a fraction more. Maedhros keeps his eyes focused on Makalaurë's gaze as Findekàno makes a pleased sound deep in his throat and presses another fingertip to Maedhros' entrance. This one is a more difficult fit, but Maedhros concentrates and bears down, and before he knows it there are two fingers exploring his already stretched walls. Findekàno's other hand comes up and brushes over his nipple, skimming over it and thumbing at it. Maedhros sighs, trying not to rock back on the fingers for fear of damaging himself. The stretch is an incredible feeling. Slowly, agonisingly, Findekàno pushes more fingers in and loosens him as Maedhros uses all his willpower to remain still. He wants to bounce on Makalaurë's cock again, but he waits.

Findekàno's voice is tight with arousal behind him when he says. "I think... you're ready. Do you feel okay?"

"Yes," Maedhros whispers. He's floating. 

" _Yes,_ " Makalaurë groans.

"Fuck me already," Maedhros insists, sweating and needy and past the point of patience. Findekàno presses the head of his cock right up against his entrance, wraps his arms around Maedhros, and slowly pushes in.

It's so much more than just getting fucked. Both of their cocks are in him- it's them, his Finno and his Kano- and Maedhros is so overwhelmed that he can't move. He tilts his head back against Findekàno's shoulder and feels a soft kiss pressed against his temple. Findekàno moves carefully and slowly, despite the energy clearly thrumming through him.

"It's alright," Maedhros whispers, opening his eyes and looking up at the ceiling where their painted sigils combine into constellations. The gold paint swims before his eyes. This is the space that only these two can take him to. "I love you. Let go."

Findekàno makes the strangest, most desperate sound into his neck, and shoves himself back inside with a jolt the ripples through Maedhros like the aftershocks of a pebble thrown in a lake- Makalaurë is babbling nonsense that all runs together in his head until it sounds like a long ago tune. Findekàno fucks him hard, gloriously, and Makalaurë twists and bucks the best he can. When Maedhros lets his head roll to the side, Makalaurë's struggling limbs look like silver ribbons dancing in the moonlight. Behind and around and inside him, Findekàno is strong and secure. His warmth envelops Maedhros like a blanket, and the heat of both of them sears him from within.  
Findekàno's hands are like a vice, holding his body in place with incredible strength. He gives another hard thrust and Makalaurë hisses, "Fingon, Eru..."

"Fuck," Findekàno mutters, reangling himself, and his next thrust makes Maedhros scream. "You both feel so good, my loves, mine, mine."

"Yours," Maedhros cries out through a haze of pleasure. The two of them moving in him together is one of his favourite things, a treasure made for him alone. Findekàno tips his head against Maedhros' back even as he fucks up over and over again. He whispers words that Maedhros can't understand into the sweaty skin of his back, all with a timbre of love and desire. Makalaurë's moans and babbling ring like a harmony, rising and falling.

"Fuck," Makalaurë cries, no longer trying to keep his voice quiet. "Fuck, you two, I could... just this, just this, always, please, please, Fingon let me touch him let me come-"

Findekàno laughs into Maedhros back. "Our songbird is singing already."

Makalaurë says something in Adunaic that is probably both extremely rude and an insult to the Valar. Maedhros can't really translate right now, surrounded by love and pleasure.

"Can I..." Findekàno pants, groans, swallows. Maedhros can feel it. "Can I lie you down against Maglor?"

Maedhros nods, gasping for breath, and he means _anything_. Findekàno's vicious pounding stops for a moment and he helps Maedhros slowly reposition himself so that he's lying flat, both cocks still inside him. Somehow, the stretch feels like even more from this angle. He loves that.

Maedhros brings his arms up so that he can prop himself up on his elbows, looking down at Makalaurë's face. It's the one solid thing in a room that moves behind his eyes.

"Hello, Kano," he says. "I love you."

"Fucking let me come, you bastard," Makalaurë replies indignantly, and then Findekàno moves.

When he fucks Maedhros, it's even more brutal than before and even more perfect.

Maedhros moans and cries and yelps and loves every second of it. Each thrust jolts him against Makalaurë, making their nipples brush, grinding his trapped cock into Kano's sweat slick abdominal muscles. He may combust from the inside, just like their father- or at the least, he'll be limping in the morning, but he'll welcome it. It's a fair price to pay for the might of Findekàno's muscles fucking him, for the stretch of Makalaurë there too as he desperately tries to get some friction and moans with each of Finno's thrusts- for the feeling of his cock being rubbed furiously between their bodies. He has no control. And beneath him is Makalaurë's beautiful, well-loved face, usually porcelain-perfect but now bruised and flushed and ecstatic.

The friction on his cock is almost too much to bear. Between that and the heat and size inside him, Maedhros is far, far too close. He feels his pleasure rising and rising with each rub of his cock as Findekàno grips his sides tight and groans.

Makalaurë's eyes are no longer focused on him, but on Findekàno.

"Come in him," he cajoles, and his strained voice gives out. He coughs, tries again. "Come on me, inside him, and leave us both in our mess, Findekàno, my love, come on my cock and let me fuck your come back into him. Now, Finno."

"I hate you both," Finno gasps somewhere behind him, and then his arms are on either side of Maedhros to prop himself up as he fucks hard and selfish, once, twice-

Maedhros can feel it when Findekàno comes in him, and he howls and bucks. The come rushes into him, floods him, squelches out around Makalaurë, and it feels so wonderful but he doesn't want this to end.

Fuck, it ends up even deeper inside him than their cocks are as Findekàno rides waves of aftershocks, crying out brokenly. Eventually he softens and pulls back and out, leaving Maedhros feeling gaping and empty. He wants to cry, he was so close. Makalaurë cranes his neck up to kiss him. Their mouths intermingle and play, tongues and lips battling. Then Maedhros feels Findekàno stick his fingers back inside his ass alongside Makalaurë's cock.

It's so good. It doesn't take long, barely a minute of Findekàno's clever fingers and Makalaurë's generous cock, before Maedhros screams and throws his head back. He can feel himself contracting hard around the unyielding flesh in him, so tight it almost hurts him. Makalaurë also makes sounds that could pass for pained, though that's probably not quite the right word.

Maedhros is panting and dizzy when it's over. Findekàno steadily withdraws his fingers, and as lovely as Makalaurë's dick is, Maedhros suddenly can't bear to have it in him anymore.

He rises off it with a wince, and Kano is left almost worryingly red and hard in front of him. His cock strains towards the sky, coated in Findekàno's come, just below where Maedhros' come covers his chest.

"No," Makalaurë half hisses, half sobs. There are tears in his eyes. "Please, I'm so close."

"Darling boy," Findekàno coos, stroking a finger along his jaw, "what do you want as your reward?"

Makalaurë's eyes are wordless and needy, but they flicker to Findekàno's lips.

"Why," Findekàno said with mischief hiding in his face, "You only had to ask."

Maedhros' head is swimming and he isn't quite sure what is happening, but as Findekàno descends down Makalaurë 's body, Maedhros reaches out for one of the tied up hands.

Makalaurë grasps it desperately, to his surprise. The silver eyes are fixed on him, begging.

"What is it?" Maedhros murmurs, stroking the back of his brother's hand with one thumb.

"Could you also-" Makalaurë stops, clearly struggling. But it dawns on Maedhros fairly quickly.

"Do you want me to join Fingon?" he murmurs, watching Makalaurë's eyes darken. "Do you want your big brother to take care of you too?"

Makalaurë shudders. "Yes," he says, his voice rising in pitch. "Yes, please. Use... use your mouth."

His cheeks are close to wine red now. Maedhros smiles and plants a kiss on Makalaurë's palm.

"Come whenever you want," Maedhros says, before sliding down Makalaurë's body and letting his hair trail behind.

His head comes to rest right by Finno's, on the other side of Kano's dick. Finno smiles at him before ducking and licking the tight balls.

"Fuck," Kano sobs, and Findekàno takes one into his mouth with a wet sucking sound, playing it around his mouth and clearly flicking his tongue. Saliva sneaks out around the edges of his lips, where he's still smiling.

Maedhros tongues the base, inhaling the familiar scent, burying his noise in fine hair. He sucks a small mark into a spot just above Kano's cock. Findekàno licks up between Makalaurë's balls and now their tongues intertwine, not quite a kiss, but something much filthier, and lovely.

Then, together, they drag their tongues over the shaft and up. (He tastes of Fingon.) Right to the head, where they kiss over the top, and then around it, keeping it between their mouths. Findekàno's hand sneaks up to play with Makalaurë's balls. Maedhros licks around the frenulum, draws the foreskin back, finds the parts that he knows make his brother scream. He mouths his way back down around every inch of the shaft, Fingon still licking the top. Makalaurë is outright sobbing, completely wordless. Findekàno and Maedhros take their time, sharing the cock, kissing it, before Maedhros shifts on his knees and licks up the red lines on Makalaurë's stomach. He can taste his own come. When he comes back down, he takes Makalaurë's cock into his mouth and sucks it the best he can. He tongue laves at it. He pushes his head down, forcing Makalaurë's cock down his throat while Findekàno moves down. Then Maedhros hears the slick sounds of Finno eating Kano out, licking, sucking, running his lips over the rim and pushing in. He's wet and filthy and eager.

Makalaurë howls and comes, bucking up to spend spurt after spurt into Maedhros' mouth. Maedhros swallows the first bit, chokes on the next, feels some slipping out of his mouth and loves every second.

Findekàno licks up the come around Maedhros' mouth. They gently pull away, reaching down to undo the ties on Makalaurë's ankles. Findekàno rubs his feet while Maedhros frees Kano's arms and rubs his fingers, checking the circulation. For several minutes they pamper him, Findekàno fetching a cloth to clean them all off as their breathing slows back to normal.

"Hey, hey Kano," Maedhros murmurs. "You did it, you were such a good boy."

Kano opens one eye and squints up at him. "I know," he rasps, and the cheeky smile warms Maedhros to the core. "But next time, you're going to be the one tied up."

"I look forward to it," Maedhros informs him, and he does.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work, not just in the Silm fandom but ever, and it's..... this. I know. I know.  
> Sorry for inconsistencies etc, there are many things I want to change and I know this could do with proof reading and editing- but hey! ADHD says no. (I will get back to it.) [Edited on 15/1/20]  
> Enjoy the sin. It has no redeeming features.


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